Future Foe Scenarios
by ideophobic
Summary: When the Dark wins and two thirds of the Golden Trio are dead, Hermione is pulled back in time to when Tom Riddle is hunting for a young girl with curly hair and caramel eyes. He thinks she is to be his Dark Lady, not knowing who or what she is. Hiatus.
1. Prologue

I would just like to start out by saying that this is my first TrHg fic. So, I would love your criticism and complaints more than anything. Oh, and before I forget, the title is the name of a wonderful song by the Silversun Pickups. I did not create it. I was vastly inspired by Ninjettex's Well Roared, Lion (if you haven't read it, I highly suggest that you do so...Right now.) and by The-Dark-Side-Of-Eden's Isira's Curse (Read it.).

Disclaimer: Although I wish it was, _Harry Potter_ is not mine.

~0~

Prologue

The hag shuffled around the wide classroom, her red cloak trailed out after her. To the dark haired seventh year, this was a completely pointless and worthless lesson. The hag walked around the room again, from his vantage point at the far back of the classroom he could see her decrepit face slip into a scowl. Her sisters came to her side whispering in ragged tones.

_Who needs to know who their going to marry with anyway?_ He thought disdainfully. It was girls' fantasies and boys' boredom. This was a monumental misuse of time to the Head Boy. His dark eyes were glaring at the hags as they came near his little perch. Timon Malfoy snickered from beside him.

"Good waste of a lesson, eh Riddle?" The blond was as smart as a fork in a locked room. _With the lights off._ Tom Riddle didn't respond. The hags in crimson cloaks were making their hunched way toward him. Gruesome smiles ate at their faces, teeth rotting or missing in each one. The one that had been circling the room pointed a bony finger at him.

He took in a sharp breath through his teeth. This wasn't right. He wasn't supposed to end up with anyone. He didn't need anyone besides himself. He was Lord Voldemort, he was going to be ruler of the world one day. He was going to have all the people of the world under his hand, and he wasn't going to share that with anybody.

Especially not some spoiled pureblood broad, like the ones that followed him during school hours. The large group of students that had tailed the Foretelling Ones, parted and made a circle that encased Tom and them. They came within ten feet of him and stopped. Their wretched faces were worse up close.

The Head Boy crossed his arms over his broad chest. He had read about the elaborate charade they put on for this. The Foretelling Ones were like the Fates of Greek myth. They foretold the future, hence the name, but only parts. It varies from hag to hag. They have their sections and different colors for each. As it was, crimson stood for love. They would go to a place and pick out the future they saw most clearly, and show that person who they were destined for.

_Apparently it was Tom's turn._

The girls in the class held their breath and hoped wildly it would be them hanging off the devilishly handsome Head Boys' arm. His Death Eaters waited in suspended silence. This wasn't going to be a simple wife to them, this was going to be their Dark Lady.

"She will be the most powerful witch the world has ever seen," one of them rasped and Tom took another sharp breath. "She will be magnificent. An exact opposite to you, yes, but similar in so many ways." A misty picture was beginning to form between them, while the students watched on with awe. It was the form of a person. A very short person.

Its' outline went to his chin and was very slight. The form became more solid around the edges, he could make out soft curves and long ebony curls, their color seeping into the mist. The misty form slowly changed a into person.

She was petite and beautiful, in that china doll sort of way. She had bright caramel eyes and soft pale skin. Her silky curls fell down her back in soft, thick ringlets. Her face was delicate and fierce at the same time, the features were small but were hardened into way that made it look like she was ready for battle. Her full rosy lips were puckered in a little rose bud shape.

Tom looked down, and furrowed his brows. She was wearing something that was far too revealing in his opinion. In all fairness they had been torn and mangled so, it probably hadn't been her fault. What once had been pants were ripped to shreds up until her mid thigh, exposing her creamy skin to everyone in the room. Her shirt was in better repair, to Tom's luck, and only had one long slice running along her stomach.

He looked over her again, dismissing her ragged clothing.

"What happened to her?" Oberon Black breathed. People all around gasped loudly as they registered the blood flowing from her side and the splatter across her cheek. Professor Pinel made his way through the crowd, he was a short pudgy man with bugging little eyes and multiple chins. The Divination professor clapped his thick hands together.

"Well, this has been fun! I sure hope we see that girl soon," He winked at Tom. "Right Mr. Riddle?"

_He would have to Obliviate them all. _

And that's exactly what him and his Death Eaters did. No one would know about the mysterious girl with the battle wounds. No one, but him and his inner circle. After they had picked off everybody in the class, including Professor Pinel, they headed for the Slytherin common room. Even when the hags had left, it was like they were whispering in Tom's ear. They repeated the first thing they had said to him.

_"She will be the most powerful witch the world has ever seen," _It was odd, her eyes seemed familiar. He was sure he had seen them before, but certainly not on one of the students. And he knew she was important, not just from what the Foretelling Ones had said, but by the way her eyes held so much knowledge and how she stood straight and tall--figuratively, of course--through the pain she was probably experiencing.

It was one of the faults the Foretelling Ones had, they could show you the person, but only how they looked at the time they showed it. The handsome Head Boy wondered what exactly she was doing, clothes mangled and side sliced open, and where she was. He felt a strange urge to find her, to see who she was and what secrets lay behind those mesmerizing eyes. This, of course, prompted him to summon all of inner circle to his room for a meeting.

They gathered around him in a half circle. Oberon and Timon were there, along with Cicero Nott and William Avery. They waited silently for what Tom had to say.

"I got some interesting news today," he began. "I'm in the need to find a girl." Timon and Oberon exchanged glances while Cicero and William waited for more information. "I only have her physical description, but that should be enough," his face turned cold and lips quirked up in a faint sneer. "I want her found and expect every resource to be expended and every piece of information you find come straight to me. If you so much as whisper this to anyone outside of these walls, you will be dealt with. _Am I understood?_" A murmur of _Yes, my Lords_ drifted across the room.

When they left, Tom sat in one of his plush armchairs. A pressure was building in his chest, a need to find the girl he had had a glimpse of. His eyes craved to look into those swirling golden depths he had gazed at.

_Is her skin as soft as it looks?_ he mused that it would probably feel like a new born babies skin or like satin.

He wouldn't have to wonder for too long.


	2. Chapter 1

I would like to say a huge thank you to SiriusBlackGodDaughter for being the first person to review my story. _Thank you! _I hope this is long enough to pass for decent! Please review!

Disclaimer: So completely not mine.

~1~

Chapter One

When Hermione stepped into Albus Dumbledore's office, she did not expect him to start prattling on about an old painting. She had been expecting more bad news, more deaths and maybe a little dash of hopelessness thrown in. So, when she sat in the chair opposite the Head Master's desk, her eyes were already heavy with loss, clothes repaired, and her side stitched by Madame Pomfrey, she noticed that Dumbledore looked less drawn and more hopeful than she had seen him since Harry's death.

She narrowed her eyes at him, wondering what could possibly have him so chipper. He held out a bowl of Sugar Quills for her. She gently picked one off the top and gnawed on it softly.

"I have recently come across a something I have never encountered, here in the castle." he said. "I was helping Professor McGonagall with putting up extra wards, when we came across a painting neither of us had ever seen before. Now, naturally I was curious about who it was yelling at us about moving her around." He motioned to a rectangular frame covered in a white cloth. It was as tall as her and two times as large.

"I'm sorry Professor, but what does this have to do with me?" There was a time when she would have never talked out of turn to the Head Master, but the deaths of Ron and Harry along with the trauma of slowly loosing a war had hardened her beyond the point of caring. He gave her a patient and slightly smug smile. She grew even more suspicious, she had never seen Albus Dumbledore _smug_.

"When she calmed down enough for me to tell her who I was; she was just as curious as I was. She said she had been looking for her heir, thinking she was at Hogwarts. I was struck with the resemblance the two of you have. I assume you know you were adopted?"

Of course she knew, she had known since she was four. The curly haired witch had just never told anybody, not Harry, not Ron, not even Ginny who was her best friend. She had always suspected that her birth parents had been wizards, but had never followed her heritage, never wanted to find out who they were and why they gave her up. Why should she have?

Her parents loved her and supported her, even though they couldn't quite grasp the sheer harshness of what her eleven year old self was thrown into. It was easy enough to guess she was adopted. Her parents looked nothing like her, her mother always had a year around tan and long straight hair and her father was a tall man with sandy blond hair with a few freckles on the bridge of his nose.

She ran a hand through her silky curls and almost smiled. It had taken two bottles of Sleek Easy potion a day for two weeks for Ginny to finally get her hair to stay permanently soft and frizz-free. They had both been amazed at the length of it when it was soft and shiny, it went flowing past her shoulder blades and to the middle of her ribs.

She caught herself and turned her attention back to Dumbledore.

"Are you saying, you found someone related to me?" she asked softly.

"That's exactly what I'm saying, Ms. Granger. Would you like to meet her?" He waited for her answer patiently. Her nod was small and curt, but the need for knowledge drove her past her hesitance.

The Professor stood and Hermione did the same. He flicked his wrist and the white cloth drifted of the massive frame.

"Hermione, I would like you to meet Morgana Le Fay. Madame Le Fay, this is Hermione Granger." Hermione would have been less shocked if Voldemort himself, came prancing in wearing only a red bikini.

"Morgana..._Le Fay_?" she choked.

There was no possible way she was related to the greatest witch in history. If he was telling the truth, she was directly related to Merlin himself, Morgana being his sister.

"I can't say I'm surprised, I knew there was no way that your magical ability was of muggle origin. You got things too quickly, produced high level spells that most professors can't even do, like your Candidum Ancile." She wasn't particularly paying attention to him, she was having a staring contest with Madame Le Fay.

He was right about the striking resemblance. Morgana was a beautiful women with an almost too pale complexion and deep honey colored eyes, with hair like Hermione's only with a redder sheen. She had small features and long fingers like her, but what really caught her off guard was the look of happiness on her delicate face.

"You were right Albus, she is perfect." she said in a soft soprano. "Come closer, little one, I haven't seen any of my descendants in a long while." Hermione took a small step towards the gilded frame.

"I thought all of my line had died out, it's silly now that I think about it." She shook her head and her waist length curls drifted around her crimson silk dress.

"I'll leave the two of you to talk," Dumbledore said quietly. Morgana and Hermione both nodded without looking at him. They barely noticed his exit.

"Albus told me about your exceptional talent," she furrowed her perfect brows. "I'm impressed, but tell me, why are you not married yet?"

Hermione almost burst out laughing, she was still waiting for the bikini clad Dark Lord.

"I...we...Women in this era don't get married this early." she said awkwardly.

"That still doesn't explain it, a beautiful witch of your pedigree should be happily married to a wealthy wizard by now." she said firmly. Hermione ignored that particularly disturbing comment.

"I don't even know who my parents are, how can you be sure I'm related to you?" It was the truth, how could she be absolutely sure? There were plenty of ways, if she were to be completely honest, but as it was, she didn't feel like it.

"Hold out your hand," The petite seventh year did as she was told. "Now, if you weren't my direct family, this," she gestured to the little ring of light that touched Hermione's fingers and encompassed the painting. "Wouldn't be happening."

"Oh," the young woman breathed. "I still don't know who my parents are..." _and I don't want to know. _

_"_That's all right, sweet one, we can find out when ever you are ready. I am glad the spell I put on my daughter didn't fade with time," At Hermione's confused look she elaborated. "I created a spell when my daughter, Camilla, was born. It keeps the resemblance of the spell caster in every female child born to the line. Of course, it changes to the male side if the person to cast it was a man."

"Why would you do that?" Tired from standing and fighting all day, Hermione sank to the floor and crossed her legs Indian style. Morgana gracefully sank down onto the grass beneath her.

"I was afraid that one day, my blood line would be lost. So, I planned a way to identify women of my family, but people soon forgot how to recognize us and my books were forgotten her in this castle."

"Wait, how would you have a specific place in the castle?" It wasn't impossible. Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was full of undiscovered rooms and secret passageways. "Hold on," she said before the sister of Merlin could respond. "Who exactly did you..._procreate_ with?" she asked uncomfortably. Morgana giggled.

"My husband was Godric Gryffindor, dearest." she said with more than a little amusement.

"Oh, you've got to be shitting me." she said in a flat tone. Morgana frowned at her.

"A young lady shouldn't use that kind of language."

"I normally don't," she said stiffly. A little crease formed between Morgana's eyebrows.

"Are you all right, dear? You look pale."

Hermione closed her eyes and willed away the nauseousness that rolled in her stomach. "So, your telling me that not only am I related to _you_, but also the founder of my house and of Hogwarts?"

"Yes, but are you all right?" Worry tinged her high voice.

"I'm fine, just a little tired, I had a long day."

"What happened?" she asked softly. Pain spasmed in Hermione's chest as she remembered her day.

"We were attacked in the Forbidden Forest, Death Eater's got past the wards we had on the perimeter." Ironically, they had been strengthen it when the had ambushed Hermione and her crew of wizards. Two of them, Miranda Lane and Steven West, were Avada'd before anyone had a chance to react. Hermione's clothes had taken most of the beating for her, all except on nasty slicing hex to her side. She had fared the best by far. "Two of my friends died and the rest are in the hospital wing."

"Oh, Hermione, I'm so sorry." she sounded so guilty that Hermione opened her eyes. "First you have to deal with that and then we dump this on you! I'm so sorry, if I had known, I would have told Albus to wait!" Her voiced pitched higher with each sentence. She would have continued if the dark haired Le Fay hadn't spoken up.

"It's alright, it's not your fault." she sighed."I think I just need to get some sleep, is all."

"Of course, of course, get some sleep and we can talk tomorrow. Hermione nodded and slowly pulled herself upright, her head swam and she almost fell. If Fawkes hadn't butted his golden head against her stomach to keep her steady, she would have fallen onto Dumbledore's desk and probably impaled herself on one of the many trinket's lying there. She patted his head in gratitude.

If birds could look concerned, Fawkes would look like Mrs. Weasley. He gracefully flew up to her shoulder and sang in her ear. He gently guided her out the door and into the hall. Every time she seemed unstable, he would softly push his head against her side and start leading her again.

It took an hour to get back to her Head Girl quarter's, Fawkes made sure she was safely lying on her bed before he left. As exhausted as she was, Hermione could not sleep. Her mind whirled and buzzed with new information.

She was Mrogana Le Fay and Godric Gryffindor's heir, the most powerful witch of all time and a man only second to Merlin himself.

_She knew she she shouldn't have found out about her biological family._

_~1~_

_1944_

Tom paced in his room, running his hand through his hair over and over again. There was nothing.

_No trace. No record. No nothing._

If he hadn't seen her himself, he would have said she didn't exist. He wanted to scream or blow something up. Her face had been burned into the back of his eyelids, waking him in the middle of the night. A new passion tangled with his need for power, it twisted inside him and was so prominent that he only thought of her, school work, and punishing his Death Eater's for not finding anything.

The students in the Slytherin house knew that something was happening, Tom was always distracted and his friends always had a frantic look on their faces. At one point, their Head Boy was so angry that the common room lay in rubble, the furniture splintered and the walls charred.

Tom paced well into the night trying all possible magical ways to find her. All of the spell's collapsed into themselves before he could find anything. The closest he got to any sort of information came in the form of a picture spell. He charmed a wall to show the girl. It was much like what the Foretelling Ones did, but it lasted longer.

She was sleeping when it showed her. Her soft curls spread around her face like mahogany flames and her full lips parted in sleep. She hadn't changed into anything suited for sleeping and her skin looked chalky, like she wasn't feeling well. She turned over with a moan and curled her legs into her chest. It was then that he looked at where she was, red and gold were every where. If he didn't know better he would say she was in the Gryffindor tower.

The picture faded before he could really inspect anything. His fist struck the wall with such force that little cracks formed by where his knuckles had been.

He went to bed with an aching hand and a raging burn inside of his chest.


	3. Chapter 2

I'm trying to update as fast as I can, because it will take a while for my story to really get going. So, please bare with me! It's going to be really complicated with a bunch of sub plots and if you get confused please drop me a review and I'll be sure to answer you. If you like Livejournal better, my account name is Lovelysnake. I would love to talk to you! Oh, and please tell me if I spell something wrong!

Please review, I always write more and faster when I know people are liking what I'm making.

Disclaimer: Not mine.

~2~

Chapter Two

Morgana had said that her secret room was at the very top of the Gryffindor tower, three doors down, two twists to the left and a knock on the fifth stone up. A great stone archway melted from the gray stone and welcomed Hermione inside. Above the arch was _Le Fay_ carved in runes. The whole thing shimmered with old magic.

When Hermione stepped through it she felt a sensation similar to that of using a portkey. The fish hook feeling behind her navel and then the weightless feeling of Apparation. When she opened her eyes she was met with a wide room filled to the brim with fine, expensive, magical items that she was sure couldn't be found anywhere else in the world. It was exactly as the elder Le Fay had said it would be.

When she had recovered from her little shock the day after meeting Morgana, she had moved her picture to her room, where they had talked for hours about their lives. Hermione explained what was happening in the world, how Hogwarts was the only strong hold left for the Light. She told her about Harry's bloody death at the hands of Bellatrix Lestrange and how Ron had dove in front of her when Lucius had aimed an Avada at her.

When she spoke of these things, she did not cry and mourn like her eleven-year old self would have. Her voice was devoid of emotion, stone. Morgana had flinched away from such coldness, but knew that it was the only acceptable way for Hermione to grieve in a time of war. She told her about her parents and how they were muggle dentists who had to have their memories wiped clean and fixed with fake moments and names, all without their daughter.

The first Le Fay described her world to Hermione, who drank in every bit of knowledge she could gather. Morgana had one child, Camillia Gryffindor who married a wealthy wizard named Joseph Amoxil and had two daughters. It seemed that the spell she put on her daughter increased the probability that her decedants would have daughters instead of male heirs. Which made it easier for the two of them to find her birth parents.

The pieces of Hermione's past came clicking together as they researched her parents, curiosity winning over fear. Her biological parents were Ledia and Philip Paxma, Philip had died three months after Hermione's birth and her mother shortly there after. Both had been purebloods as esteemed as the Malfoys.

Hermione found the article marking their deaths in the Hogwarts library, in an old Daily Prophet.

_THE PEOPLE MOURN  
_

_THE DEATHS OF_

_THE LAST PAXMAS_

_Late last night, the Paxma family mansion was burned to the ground. _

_The young wife of the recently diseased Philip Paxma was found on the grounds, a victim_

_ of the Killing Curse. The couple's newborn daughter, her name unknown, was given to _

_Albus Dumbledore for safekeeping, as he was close to Mrs. Paxma. It is rumored that the child will _

_be put up for adoption. Many families, such as the Blacks and the Malfoys have volunteered to _

_take the baby, but so far no choice has been made. As she has no living family, it is entirely up her guardian, _

_Professor Dumbledore._

It had taken almost an hour for Hermione to stop her hysterical giggles. The fact that the _Malfoys_ had willingly volunteered to take her in was so outrageous that she couldn't help herself. She had been lying on the plush crimson rug of Morgana's room when she read it. The shimmering walls and many shiny gold things that dotted the room, made it have an almost dream-like quality.

When she stepped out of the surreal room, confusion washed over her. The article said that Dumbledore had been her guardian.

_But he had said he didn't...No_, she thought narrowing her eyes, _he never said he didn't know she was adopted. He said he didn't know she was related to Morgana. _There was one flaw to that, however. Hadn't he said that he had always suspected that she was not of muggle heritage?

When she had taken her questions to Dumbledore himself, he had replied in a very calm and reasonable voice, "I didn't want you to feel over whelmed, I knew you would find out sometime. It would have been too much to deal with in one day. But yes, I am your guardian. Your mother was like a daughter to me," he sighed sadly. "So, when you were left without a family I took you in."

"But, the article said that the Malfoys and the Blacks had been willing to take me in. Why didn't you just leave me with one of them?" It wasn't like that was what she wanted, but she had to ask.

"I had a feeling that you were going to be better off with a nice muggle family. Narcissa wanted you because she was close to Ledia, but the rest of the family only wanted to take you in to add prestige to their name. The Blacks," he tugged on the end of his long beard, orange bead's glinting in the evening light, "Felt that you belonged to them more than the Malfoys. You're very distant cousin's with them, you see, and..." he paused as if he was deciding if he should say something. "Bellatrix had always wanted a child. She took an almost unhealthy interest in you, when Ledia and Philip died."

If he had been expecting a reaction from her, he didn't get one. She harbored no hate for Bellatrix or Malfoys or Blacks. They were slaves, tricked into thinking they were doing right.

"She fought for you vigorously. She adored you. If I had been a passerby and seen her holding you, I would have thought she was a spoiling mother. For someone as twisted as her, she loved you dearly, Hermione. Almost as much as Ledia and Philip did. Your parents were very much like the Potters, but were loved by both sides of pureblood society. I figured that you would do much better away from Bellatrix and the Malfoys."

But at that very moment, she craved the presence of one specific Malfoy. The one who had made her cry so many times when they were young. When Harry and Narcissa had died, they had drawn closer, seeking solace in each other. He was still a Death Eater, that much he couldn't change.

She had stopped caring around the same point that she stopped feeling. They could talk without feeling or get into a heated argument that went on for hours, without noticing the difference. Somewhere along the way, he had stopped caring about her blood--which turned out not to be a problem anyway--and she forgot about the tears he had caused her to shed.

He became her anchor and she became his light in the darkness. When she needed comfort she would reach out her hand with his already halfway stretched toward her, and interlock their fingers. When he needed to see the light, he would simply take her in his arms and be soothed by her presence.

They kept each other sane and made sure they didn't forget their humanity. So, when he was called into duty by Voldemort, it had crushed them both. That night they didn't talk, he held her around the waist and lied them both on the Slytherin couch. She put her hands over his and took one last bit of comfort in him.

When she woke the next morning, her hands were empty. And as she walked the hollow halls of Hogwarts castle, she wished she could reach for his hand and know that it was already waiting to take hers. Draco would have laughed and belittled her for only tracing her family history now, but he would have helped her and made sure he did all he could to find out who exactly she was.

_She missed her anchor, her Draco._

_~2~_

_1944_

He had been in Transfiguration class when he'd had his revelation. It had come on so suddenly that he almost dropped his wand in the middle of turning a wall into a sofa. His predatory smile, that was more of a baring of teeth, had alerted the old codger of a wizard to make his way over to him.

Dumbledore inspected his work with that stupid twinkling in his eyes.

_Honestly, how could one person _twinkle_ so much? There's no way it can be healthy._

"Nice work, Tom." he complimented in a slightly clipped tone.

"It was easy enough." The Head Boy responded without emotion, there was no need to keep up the pretense of innocent Tom Riddle around him. It's not like he didn't know of some of the dark things he had done.

Dumbledore clasped his hands behind his back and ambled off. When the bell sounded and the rest of the school headed for the dining hall, he made a bee line for the library. The Restricted Section looked promising for his area of research.

He trailed his long, pale fingers along the spines of the books, looking for one that could give him the spell he needed to find his little curiosity. He had had women before. They had flocked to his side since third year. The little chit's were as Timon when it came to anything slightly academic. They were timid things, looking for permission and approval from the men they layered their affection on.

That wouldn't be so bad if they just put up a little fight, instead of just submitting to their boyfriends. The young women he had taken were tall and blond and gorgeous. His little curiosity was a whole different breed, small and delicate with a defiant look in her golden eyes.

The fire raged in his chest at the thought of her and his pale fingers came to rest on the spine of _Great Wizards and Their Descendants._ He sat down in one of the two wooden chairs at the end of the Restricted Section and set the thick volume on the small table.

He was sure he'd seen the likeness of the girl somewhere before. This particular book had served him well when he had started his search for his ancestry. It had been the one to tell him who he was, that he was the heir to Salazar Slytherin.

He flipped to the table of content, trailing his index finger down the titles. He stopped at _Lost Bloodlines_..._407. _The faces of once famous witches and wizards skimmed by him until he passed one with a familiar curly head of hair. He desperately backtracked and stopped when the face of Morgana Le Fay lay before him.

He took a deep breath as a terrifying smile bloomed across his lips. His satisfaction at finally finding something related to the curly haired young woman he had seen was quelled by the surge of annoyance at the fact that he still didn't know her name.

The dark haired young man ground his teeth together and looked down at the book again. Yes, there was no mistaking it. They were so similar that it was almost impossible for them not to be related.

They had the same eyes and body shape. The soft subtle curves of their waists were the same, the shape of their lips were identical. Something about Morgana was different, her attitude different from his little curiosity's.

He found her to be much more beautiful than Morgana.


	4. Chapter 3

I would like to say that I am supremely grateful to all of you who reviewed and to the people who added me to their alert/favorite list! A massive, smothering thank you goes out to se0127, for helping me with my errors. I hadn't realized there were so many, I'll be sure to go through all of my previous chapters and revise them. Also, getting a beta would help, so I'll try to find one. Hopefully one is brave—or stupid—enough to want to edit my work. Oh, and by the way, se0127, I am by no means angry with you. You saved my butt on the Prologue, so _do not_ be ashamed about being a spelling prude!

To answer a question about my saying that Morgana is her great-grandmother, she isn't but it would be amazingly annoying to write great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great…ect. So, she isn't her great-grandma, I'm just lazy.

Please Review, I love criticism in any form.

Disclaimer: If it was mine, I wouldn't be writing fan fiction.

~3~

Chapter Three

Hermione stared at her reflection. The person in the mirror scared her. It wasn't that she was ugly, as Draco had so often drawled in their early years at Hogwarts. It was that she looked _cold_; she didn't look mean, just listless. A cruel mockery of what she had been.

Where had the flush in her cheeks gone?

What happened to the almost unhealthy need for knowledge that had shined in her eyes? Something more than the absence of feeling shocked her the most. It was the sense of power that rolled off her in thick waves. It surged through her blood, deep part of her was awakening, coming to life.

It was something dangerous. A need to use her new found power. It felt like she was an athlete being restricted from her sport.

Her stoic face slipped into a scowl. She twisted and pulled at her velvety curls, trying to manage her hair into a ponytail. She wore tight blue jeans with a hole in the right knee, a thin white tank top that hugged all the right places, and the black stiletto heels that Ginny had bought her last year. Her balance being dangerously unstable when she was in heels, Ginny had been oh, so kind to cast a balance and comfort charm. That made it so she wouldn't fall flat on her face when she walked and that she felt like she was walking her old Mary Jane's, instead of four inch heels.

Grabbing her book bag from her nightstand, she slid gracefully from her room in the almost deserted Gryffindor tower. The only people left in the castle were Order members and what was left of Dumbledore's Army. The students had to be sent home for their own safety.

She had finished her classes for her seventh year that August, though her actual semester would have been starting in just a few days.

Hermione was heading for the library when the first explosion shook the walls of Hogwarts castle. It was a deep resounding boom. All around her Order members ran to the sound, the broken wards screeching an alarm.

The walls shook again, but the witch was deaf to the sound. She stood in the middle of chaos, perfectly still. Her mind could only function enough chant, _it's over, they've got into the castle, it's over, they've got into the castle, it's over, it's over._

Someone was screaming her name. Hermione turned her head, the action seemed wooden and forced.

It was Morgana, she had run from her room to one of the other picture frames. She was yelling something, but her ear's felt stopped up.

Then, as if in slow motion, the crowd around her started to fall. One by one, some so scared that the merely back against the stone wall. Hermione turned her head back slowly. It was strange, she hadn't realized she was in the entrance hall, or that she was splattered with blood that was not her own.

Suddenly her hearing came back in full force, the feeling returned to her body and her mind reeled. She ripped her school bag off her shoulder and shot a hex at any black robed body within reach.

The person she hit slammed against wall with a wet crack. Her wand burned in her palm and she slipped it back into her pocket, it wasn't strong enough to take the magic that flowed through her veins now.

She held her hands in front of her, light exploded from her pale skin and tore apart another robed figure. His scream lashed through the air, but was drowned out by the anarchy around them.

The Gryffindor heir walked forward, she walked with a predatory grace steeped into her steps. She flicked her wrist and another Death Eater fell to the ground.

Her topaz eyes scanned the raging crowd for a familiar head of silvery blond hair. The Death Eaters hadn't bothered to wear masks, they weren't in hiding anymore. Relief washed through her when she couldn't find her Malfoy.

It got very quiet, very suddenly. It seemed like everyone had frozen, distracted by something over her shoulder. Her instincts were telling her to run, to get far, far away. Instead, she turned slowly, like in one of those cheesy muggle horror movies.

Surprisingly, she felt no fear in her as she watched the Dark Lord approach. She met his crimson eyes with a calmness that shocked not only her, but everyone around them. She saw a challenge in his eyes that she didn't expect, like he was daring her to move, to do anything that she thought might stop him from victory.

She quirked an eyebrow at him. A cocky and slightly sarcastic half-smile played at her lips. She took a step back, the challenge that she had seen in his eyes was mirrored in her own.

The people around her looked like trapped rabbits, the Death Eaters included. The Order members looked at her like she'd lost her mind.

_Maybe she had,_ she thought with an internal shrug. She didn't care if she lived or died anymore.

Voldemort's thin lips twitched up in a shadow of a smile. She took another step back and glanced at Morgana. She was mouthing something to her. She glanced quickly back to the menace before her. He seemed too engrossed in watching her than anything else.

Morgana desperately mouthed, "_My room! Get to my room!_" Hermione understood. It was next to impossible to get past the wards the first Le Fay put up, especially when they were mingled with Godric Gryffindor's.

Turning her curly head back to the problem with absurdly pale skin, she did something that straddled the line between sane and bat-shit crazy.

She stuck her tongue out at the Dark Lord and ran.

With a muttered spell, her legs blurred and almost flew over the stone. The bedlam behind her was reaching a fever pitch as Voldemort and his lackey's followed her down the hall.

She rocketed up the stairs that lead to the Gryffindor tower. She screamed the password to the poor Fat Lady and shot inside. She didn't pause when she stepped into the red and gold common room. The winding stairs that lead to the girls' dormitories was her goal. The seventeen-year-old was up the steps like a bolt of lightning.

_Three doors down, two turns to left, and a knock on the fifth stone up._

The archway appeared before her in much the same that the Room of Requirements did, but she didn't have time to dwell on the strangeness of that particular fact.

When she had raced into the room she leaned against the wood of the door, breathing heavy. Loud bangs and sounds of fighting drifted into the shimmering room. Hermione stood up and walked over to one of the most curious looking objects in the room. It had a note pinned to it that hadn't been there before.

It read: _Hermione, in the worst case scenario use this. _

_You're Guardian._

She peeled off the note and tucked it into her pocket. The strange object was pretty, even if it was in the unconventional modern art sort of way.

It was made of white gold that was curled in a globe-like shape. The same white gold made two rings on either side of it, like handles. Runes were etched into it with amazing detail.

The walls shook again as someone—probably Voldemort—tried to break through the wards on the room. Steeling her nerves, she gripped the handles of the globe-like-thing.

Her body jerked and the room started to spin. A terrible jolt of pain shot through her, she tried to pry her hands away from the handles, but they wouldn't move. The pain doubled, then tripled until she almost wished someone would Crucio her.

It would feel like a soft bed compared to the agony she was gripped with. Sparks of light burst in her eyes and the room spun faster. There was a deep humming sound, all the magic in the room merged into on continued force.

Something shifted in the air; a massive change was taking place as she was being tortured. The pain didn't lose its ferocity and the spinning didn't slow, but everything stopped; the pain, the horrible spinning and the magical humming.

It was quiet as she slumped to the floor and let the blackness consume her.

_~3~_

Something shifted in the atmosphere at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Everyone felt it, the professors, the students, even the owls. Every last person in the castle had stopped what they were doing to let the feeling sink in.

Dumbledore had paused in his lesson when it happened. Tom's head had snapped up from his work and felt his wand heat up in his pocket. The momentary silence that had swept over the school was broken by the great roar of powerful magic that swept through the building. Less experienced wizards wouldn't have felt the new stunningly powerful stream of magic that came from no where.

It wasn't hostile or harsh, it was pure and almost peaceful. The students resumed their work and the school came back to life. The bell rang and the young witches and wizards forgot all about the change. All but one.

The Head Boy stalked down the halls in a black mood, his Hogwarts robes whirling around his ankles. The burning in his chest had come back with an unexpected force.

He needed to find her, to know that she wasn't just a figment of his imagination. He turned the sharp corner that would lead him to the Slytherin dorms. All the intersecting halls were empty.

Except for one lone figure, bracing herself against the wall. It took him a moment to decide if he should help or not. everyone was in the dining hall; no one would know if he left her to her own devices.

He frowned and took quick steps to the clearly hurt figure. It was his duty as Head Boy, after all. He could faintly hear blood dripping onto the stone floor and her labored breathing. _Someone must have hexed her right and proper..._ He thought with a tiny quirk of his lips.

She took a shaky breath and lifted her head to get a good look at who was approaching her. Tom's steps faltered and then picked up until he was almost jogging to her side.

His little curiosity stood before him, the flickering torch light bouncing off her too pale face. Her eye's glittered a marvelous topaz under her long lashes. When she saw him, her expression went from agonized to closed and cold. She pulled her arm back to her side and stood straight. He took another stride toward her and she took two steps back, her heels clicking on the stone.

"Stay away from me," she said in a clear soprano. He furrowed his brows and scowled in displeasure. _Like hell he was going to stay away from her!_

"You need to get to the hospital wing," his voice echoed off the walls around them.

"No," she winced and her hand flew to her side. "I need to find Dumbledore!" Her words came in between little gasps of pain, even though her face remained stoic.

"You're going to the hospital wing," he said firmly. "Then you can see Dumbledore." She glared at him viciously.

"You are such an--" she couldn't finish what was most likely a very unladylike comment, because she doubled over in pain and the _drip, drip, drip_ of blood came faster.

He levitated her and ran to the hospital wing, which, thankfully, wasn't much of a distance from where they had been. Madame Jennett was so appalled by her condition that she forgot all about Tom's presence.

And this is how Tom got his first good look at Hermione Granger. Her once white shirt had been splattered and soaked through with blood (Tom raised an eyebrow at her very tight clothing) and there was cuts and deep gashes all over her small body. Even though she was smeared with crimson all over, he couldn't help but notice how very appealing she looked.

He was vastly disappointed when the mediwitch magically cleaned all of the blood and sweat off of her body. She muttered a few healing spells and her many deep wounds started to knit together.

"Amazing," the witch breathed.

"What?" he asked quietly. She didn't even look at him.

"With the amount of blood she lost, she should be dead." The dark haired young man glanced up sharply, he certainly didn't like the sound of that. When the disbelieving woman left, he sat beside his curiosity's chair. She was fast asleep in the sterilized cot and Madame Jennett had transfigured her too revealing clothes into a white night gown.

The burning in his chest had simmered down to a dull throb in his mid section. His curiosity getting the better of him, he reached out a pale hand and stroked the back of her hand. He wasn't shocked to find that it felt like melted chocolate, delicious, mouth watering white chocolate.

He continued to watch the curly haired girl with an almost obsessive interest. He only left when his hunger had threatened to wake her with its grumbling and the bad tempered madame Jennett had shooed him out. Instead of heading to the kitchens like he would have, he headed for the Transfiguration professor's office.

He didn't hesitate, his knuckles hit the door exactly three times before he stepped back.

A cheerful _"Come in,"_ slipped through the cracks in the door. Tom gripped the handle of the door and pushed it open. Professor Dumbledore looked up from some pieces of parchment on his desk to look at the Head Boy curiously over his half moon glasses.

"What can I do for you, Mr. Riddle?"

"I believe you have a visitor, Professor."


	5. Chapter 4

I would like to say that I am so sorry about how long it has taken me to get this out. I've been ill--horrible excuse, I know--and I haven't had the strength to write. I am very, _very_ sorry. I would like to thank all of you who reviewed and stuck out the wait--_and_, of course, Serpentinred for being crazy nice and editing this for me. Danka!

Please review! Please, please, please!

Disclaimer: Not mine.

~4~

Chapter Four

The dim morning light danced through the heavy glass of the windows in the Hospital Wing. The dark gray stones that made up the walls looked even bleaker in contrast to the bird song and lovely colors of spring outside.

It was to this mix of colors that Hermione Granger woke, her arms and upper body swathed in crisp white bandages.

It's a strange thing, waking up in an unfamiliar yet completely familiar place. It is much like waking up in a friend's bedroom after a sleepover—you know the walls are looking at, you know the bed you slept in, but it isn't your home.

This place was _that_ house, she'd been there many times—walked all of the passageways and corridors _hundreds_ of times—but it was…_stiff._ It wasn't her place anymore.

Dust motes swirled around her in the sun, she brushed her hand through one and it branched into little rivulets-like smoke. With a resigned sigh, the curly haired witch pushed herself into a sitting position.

It was a trying task, to be sure. Her arms shook with fatigue and her body screamed at her to just lie back down on the nice comfy cot, but if Hermione was anything, _she was a fighter._

A small, triumphant smile bloomed on her rosy lips when she was able to brace herself against the wall.

"Oh!" someone squeaked from across the room. "What are you doing up?!"

A small, plump woman in standard--if not slightly out of fashion--Mediwitch robes, came bustling to her side. Her Weasly-esque color hair was rolled into a tight bun that bounced on the back of her neck as she huffed.

"Lay back down! Child, I will not have you hurting yourself _more_. Now lay down!" The young witch looked up at the woman owlishly, not understanding why she was being so fussy.

"Child," she huffed. "You are going to rest, _whether you like it or not_." Hermione slowly sank back down, not wanting to incur the wrath of this stubby woman. "Good, now, I'll be right back with your potion…" she hurried into her office.

It was in the absence of that Madame Pomfrey impersonator that everything came back to Hermione with a force equivalent to being hit with a rogue Bludger. Memories flashed behind her eyes—_the battle, the Dark Lord, everyone _falling_ one by one before her eyes_—like a distorted Muggle movie.

The butterscotch-eyed witch's' even breaths shuddered as they left her body, her long dried eyes did not release tears as they should have.

She swung her legs out from under the covers and sat up again. If there was one thing she did not like, it was sitting—or rather, lying—around and doing nothing. The witch shivered as her bare feet touched the ground. Her clothes were folded and set on a metal tray next to her cot; she assumed that was where potions and food were set.

The girl tore off the plain cotton shift she was wearing and threw it onto the rumpled cot, while also thanking the gods for the privacy screen. She shook out her clothes, not entirely surprised to find them cleaned. It took some skillful maneuvering, and her teeth firmly secured on the hem of her shirt, to get on her clothes. Hermione glanced around, but couldn't find her shoes anywhere, only a pair of comfortable looking Mary Jane's.

The tapping of the Mediwitch's heels startled her more than they should have, her head snapped in the direction of the woman's office. "What are you doing?!" the woman cried.

"I need to see Dumbledore,"the younger witch breathed as she slipped on the shoes. "I have to talk to him."

"You're not going anywhere!" the woman shoved a goblet of foul smelling liquid under her nose. "Drink this and lay back down. Professor Dumbledore will be down here soon enough, he's teachin' a class now. You can't just go runnin' in!"

"Wait, what?" Hermione asked, her heart hammering painfully. "Did you say he was _teaching_?"

"Of course," the woman looked at her like she was daft. "Now, I have to go and inform Headmaster Dippet that you're awake. Go on, drink that now." She started for the door, before stopping abruptly. "Before I go, what is your name, child?"

"Ophira." The name was one she had read about when she was ten during one of her Greek mythology phases. "Ophira Le Fay." The Mediwitch snorted and shook her head, continuing out the door.

The young witch drank the potion numbly, only gagging once as it slid down her throat like an overgrown slug. Now she knew how Ron felt during Second year.

A sharp pain ran from the base of her spine to the crown of her head at the thought of her lost lover.

_~4~_

Tom's aloof mask did nothing to help his raging inner turmoil. relaxationHis long fingers drummed impatiently on his thigh, even though he gave a look of utmost relaxation as he sat in Potions.

"D'you hear, Tom?" Oberon Black asked with his usual cool temperament. "People are saying there's a girl in the Hospital Wing, just appeared out of nowhere. Rumors are going around that she's a survivor of attack on Paris, you know, the one that happened about four days ago…" he trailed off. "It doesn't explain how she got in the castle without everyone knowingTom."

"No," Tom said with a light air. "It doesn't."

"Do you think she's going to stay?" Oberon quirked a dark eyebrow at his Head Boy.

"I have a feeling she's not going anywhere for a while." The Black heir gazed at him curiously for moment, before turning back to his notes.

~4~

"How are you feeling?" Headmaster Dippet asked. He was a stout man with a pudgy frame and a head of thinning, combed over hair.

She just stared at him with blank eyes. "You are not Dumbledore."

"Albus will be here as soon as his class is finished," he folded his hands in his lap and leaned forward. "Now, Miss, can you please tell me your name?"

"My name Ophira Le Fay." His lips thinned into a flat line.

"Please, tell me the truth."

"I _am _telling the truth. You just choose not to listen." she said in exasperation.

"Child, the last Le Fay died one hundred and fifty years ago." He said firmly.

_Yeah, and so did the last Slytherin,_ she thought dully.

"If you don't believe me, fine, but that is my name." she shrugged.

"Alright," he said tightly. "Where did you come from?"

"What year is it?" he was taken of guard by her apparently random question.

"It is 1944," he licked his lips. "Why?"

"Just checking," she lied smoothly. "To answer your question, I was in Paris with my parents when the attack started. Our chateau was demolished and I was separated from my parents. To answer your next question, I was hit with a spell I didn't recognize and then I ended up here."

She silently thanked all of the books she had read in the Hogwarts library that prepared her for this moment.

"And your schooling?" he inquired gently.

"I was tutored—my parents didn't like the idea of sending me away to school."

"Did you always live in Paris? From your accent, it sounds like you were raised here." She opened her mouth to lie again, but was cut off by the sound of the doors creaking open.

Hermione sighed in relief. _Finally._

Albus Dumbledore drifted into the room, his canary yellow and orange robes matched his auburn and gray-streaked beard.

"Hello, Miss Le Fay." He said cheerily.

"Do you know her, Albus?" Dippet asked as he glanced from Hermione to Dumbledore and back again.

"Oh, of course," he looked piercingly at the girl in the cot. "I know her parents very well."

The sunlight caught the red glass beads in his beard like little diamonds, the reflection bouncing on the slate floor.

Idly, Hermione wondered how long it takes him to get ready in the morning.

"What should we do with her, Albus?" She scowled, not liking being treated as if she wasn't in the room.

"I think she should stay here, Headmaster—at least until we find her parents. Would you like that, Ophira?"

She nodded stiffly.

"Is Madame Jennett treating you all right?" She made a face. "I'll take that as a yes."

The Headmaster rubbed his chunky hands together. "I will go get the proper paperwork. When I return, we can make all the necessary arrangements for you to make smooth transfer to Hogwarts." He ambled off, leaving Hermione to talk to her professor alone.

"How did you know?" she asked in wonderment.

"I received an unexpected visit late last night by one of my students, he said a girl had appeared out of nowhere and had asked for me. Then, the next morning, I get a frazzled Jacqueline in my office saying a girl in her Wing was going off about seeing me and telling her a load of nonsense about being a Le Fay. She was completely certain that you were, of course, lying. I thought it would be prudent to meet with you first, _before_ I make any judgments." He peered at her over his half moon glasses.

"Now," he said. "What is it that you need, Ms. Le Fay?"

A not totally unfamiliar feeling of hopelessness crept up her arms. The empty pang in her chest felt reborn with a sense of urgency stinging around the edges of her abdomen. What _did_ she need?

"I have no idea, actually."


End file.
